Alter Ego
by crackerboxbeatle
Summary: An artist and a Ted meet. (The Beatles) (Lenncliffe) (McLennon) (Starrison)
1. Null

**Null**

"Yer a fuckin' mess, Lennon."

It comes out as a whisper, blinded under the sound of the running water in the sink. He cups his hands underneath the stream to collect the clear liquid, and splashes it onto his face. The stray water droplets accumulate at the fringe of his musty brown moptop when he lifts his head.

A wet hand reaches for the handle on the sink labeled "C" for cold. The string of water is cut off, leaving a few continuous drips from the faucet head.

John watches his reflection. The whites of his eyes are no longer white, but pink. Bloodshot from crying. It made the deep brown in his irises look even more concealing. Nostrils flared in and out at the shaky intake of breath. Thin lips chapped from the many attempts to breath normally.


	2. Eins

**E** **ins**

"John really liked Stuart as an artist. Stuart obviously liked John because he played the guitar and was a big Ted." -George Harrison in the _Beatles Anthology_

* * *

The boy sat in front of Stuart in his class. When the professor called roll his name was Lennon. He was the one with the greased hair and black leather jacket that leaned back in his chair too much. What had brought him to this college anyway? What was a Ted going to do with his time at the Liverpool College of Art?

"It's Sutcliffe, right?" The sound of Stuart's black heels were paused when he swooped around to find Lennon behind him. _I thought I recognized that raspy voice,_ thought Stuart. He found himself looking into the eyes of the Elvis Presley wannabe, noticing he squinted as if he needed glasses.

"The first name's Stuart," said the good natured boy, extending his free hand. John stared at it for a moment before gripping the hand and bobbing it up and down slightly.

"John, but you can call me Johnny, everyone does," John stated during the handshake. He let go and brought his hand back into the pocket of his jacket. "Say, you're a cool lad. Teacher's pet and all but it'll work," John cocked his head slightly and looked the artsy boy up and down. "You have an instrument, Stu?"

"Nah," replied Stuart, shaking his head. Music didn't come naturally to Stuart, only art had. It's why he quit piano lessons when his mother could barely provide for them anymore. it was easier on both his mother and himself.

"You seemed arty and all that, so I thought you'd have an instrument by now. Have you played anything at all?" The questions kept coming from the teddy boy, to Stuart it seemed like they would never stop.

"I had some piano lessons as a kid, but I assume everyone does," Stuart said. Why was he so interested in his musical ability anyway? It was Thursday afternoon, there could be million other things to be doing instead of questioning a classmate about what instruments they play.

"I have a band, Stu. Me and the boys thought you would have some musical talent in one form or another. We also need a bass," this was true, just last week Len, the lad who owned the bass, decided to quit. "Get you a bass guitar and you're in."

"Why me?" asked Stuart, the first thing that popped into his mind had somehow slipped from his lips.

"The band says you're 'good at doing art'. And that you 'give off a good vibe'," John recited exactly the words that Colin, Eric, Rod, John Lowe, and Chas all agreed on. "It's reasonable enough. I can see you after school tomorrow at your place?"

Stuart found himself determining whether or not he should be a friend of this guy. In the end, it was the friendly way that won. "Sure, Lennon. Why not?"

John nodded at Stuart and turned to walk off campus. Stuart couldn't help but stare after the teddy boy as he sauntered away. Prideful and outgoing, John was, but he didn't to seem as hardcore as all of the other guys at school say he is.

* * *

"So you're an artist," John's says, walking side by side with Stuart. They were walking to his house from the college. He had no sense of personal space, his leather jacket occasionally brushed the sleeve of Stuart's sweater. "Where do you do your art?"

The two adolescents turned onto the street Stuart's house was on. "I do me art in the attic, it's quiet up there," Stuart answered the question. A few paces after turning it corner, they arrived to a brick house with the name "SUTCLIFFE" pasted crudely onto the mailbox.

Stuart turned the metal doorknob, and the front door of the house opened slowly on its hinges. The wooden floor of the kitchen was a first part of the house to be revealed, and next was the living room.

John walked in, eyeballing every item in the house. "Who all lives here anyway?" He sneered.

"It's me mum's stuff. We live with my sisters." Stuart followed John's eyes to pictures of the girls hanging up on the wall, and then to a picture of his mother.

"Where's yer dad?" asked John. Carefully, however, this was a tough subject for him and he imagined Stuart would be the same way.

"Honestly I wouldn't know where he is," Start reminisced. "My mum used to tell me he was at sea." He turned to John and strided behind him to the ladder. "The attic is this way."

John climbed closely behind Stuart's feet. He stepped one foot onto the last rung of the ladder, and put his other foot onto the planks in the attic. In another second he was standing in the second story of the Sutcliffes' house.

Stuart pulled the metal chain of the light bulb and it lit up the wide area of floor. Exaggerated shadows of two boys fell on the dark wood walls. Large canvases leaned against one another between a wall and the tilted roof. An easel displayed itself along with a stool decorated with paints, paintbrushes, and a jar with water colored by acrylics.

"It's me studio," declared Stuart. He watched a mesmerized John walk over to the finished pieces on the wall.

John had thought Stuart was cool guy before, but now he admired him. _He really is an artist,_ John thought. _But from the way people talked I expected something a little... less._

Most paintings had dark, cool colored backgrounds, and swirls, spirals, or streaks of a contrasting color of paint. Misshapen boxes and circles seemed to be a real favorite of the artist. There were other works too, with women, men, indescribable figures, and faces. It was all too fascinating for John.

"How is it?" Stuart broke the silence after observing John for several minutes.

John opened his mouth several times, only to close it and rethink what he was going to say. Before this he wasn't aware of how much of an artist Stuart actually was. He settled on just a short remark.

"You've really got talent, Stu."


End file.
